When alone or only with me, my
dog, Henry, magically barks. Each
time he barks, just as in a newspaper
comic strip a balloon appears in the
air, enclosing the word “bark.”
The balloon stays for only an instant
then puff it is gone and a small piece
of wood bark drops out of the sky and
and falls to the ground.
It is funny how we accept behavior
from our pets that would otherwise
be odd or strange from our human
friends.
So I have grown use to the fact that
Henry barks in balloons and trails
tree bark in his travels.
Often when I come home I find piles
of bark near the door or a window a
sure sign that Henry has defended the
house with his barking.
I find the piles a comfort, they are
the otherwise invisible signs of Henry’s
life when I am gone. I must teach him
to sweep.
gng 6-17-06
cabin afternoon sitting with Glen
my brother.
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Poems by Gary Garten
About the Poems
We are all passengers aboard the same train looking out different windows at the same scenery. Each of us a poet, scribbling notes and writing poems from our own window, our own point of view. This is a collection of poems from my window, the window next to yours.
Pushing Words
My words like a herd of range-wise cattle are scattered in every direction, reluctant to form sentences or express thought.
The adjectives have all bunched together and broken off at a run, stampeding toward a small canyon to the west.
To the east, the nouns and a small scattering of verbs have wandered toward a small creek, grazing-determined to ignore my pleas to arrange themselves into an opening stance.
To the north, most of the other verbs and prepositions have spread among the tall brush and brambles, solitary clusters of vowels and consonants determined not to be herded or gathered.
Behind and toward the south are the stragglers: the descriptive and slow to move adjectives and adverbs, the stubborn pronouns and finally the all but impossible prepositional phrases and conjunctions.
However, the day has started and the time for writing has begun. So I toss the last bitter taste of coffee onto the fire and saddle up. There are poems to write, novels to begin and love letters to find out there on the range.
Time to gather the herd:
time to push some words.
gng 2-21-8
The adjectives have all bunched together and broken off at a run, stampeding toward a small canyon to the west.
To the east, the nouns and a small scattering of verbs have wandered toward a small creek, grazing-determined to ignore my pleas to arrange themselves into an opening stance.
To the north, most of the other verbs and prepositions have spread among the tall brush and brambles, solitary clusters of vowels and consonants determined not to be herded or gathered.
Behind and toward the south are the stragglers: the descriptive and slow to move adjectives and adverbs, the stubborn pronouns and finally the all but impossible prepositional phrases and conjunctions.
However, the day has started and the time for writing has begun. So I toss the last bitter taste of coffee onto the fire and saddle up. There are poems to write, novels to begin and love letters to find out there on the range.
Time to gather the herd:
time to push some words.
gng 2-21-8
About the Author
I have managed to reach the comfortable age of 67. I was born into a military family and lived all over the world and the United States. I graduated in 1961 from Kubasaki High School, Okinawa, Japan, a US Army Dependant School.
I served in the US Air Force as a member of a Titian 2 combat lunch crew, attended Florida State University on the GI bill and graduated in 1969, which put me in the middle of the duel revolutions of Woodstock and the Vietnam War.
I held several management jobs but discovered almost too late my love of working with my hands as well as my mind. So for the last 37 years I have owned and operated a locksmith business. I earned the distinction of CML, Certified Master Locksmith, a highly regarded and very limited certification, awarded through ALOA, the international locksmith association.
I am a widower having lost my beloved wife Sharon after her seven-year battle with breast cancer. Four years ago, as part of the healing process, I attended a writing class at a my local Community College and rediscovered a love of writing.
It was at that time I wrote my first poem and was fortunate enough to get my first fifteen poems published in the Anne Arundel Community College Journal for the Creative Arts, "Amaranth."
I am well known in the local poetry community and have been the feature poet at readings around Annapolis, MD. I am currently attempting to publish my first book of poetry, “12 Items or Less.”
I served in the US Air Force as a member of a Titian 2 combat lunch crew, attended Florida State University on the GI bill and graduated in 1969, which put me in the middle of the duel revolutions of Woodstock and the Vietnam War.
I held several management jobs but discovered almost too late my love of working with my hands as well as my mind. So for the last 37 years I have owned and operated a locksmith business. I earned the distinction of CML, Certified Master Locksmith, a highly regarded and very limited certification, awarded through ALOA, the international locksmith association.
I am a widower having lost my beloved wife Sharon after her seven-year battle with breast cancer. Four years ago, as part of the healing process, I attended a writing class at a my local Community College and rediscovered a love of writing.
It was at that time I wrote my first poem and was fortunate enough to get my first fifteen poems published in the Anne Arundel Community College Journal for the Creative Arts, "Amaranth."
I am well known in the local poetry community and have been the feature poet at readings around Annapolis, MD. I am currently attempting to publish my first book of poetry, “12 Items or Less.”
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